


Headbang

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ficlet, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Connor gets to listen to heavy metal.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 144





	Headbang

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Connor doesn’t understand the concept of heavy metal music right up until the moment that Hank’s cock slides into his anal cavity, and then, all at once, Connor _gets it._

Hank stabs inside right when the raging beat crescendos, and the second the drum hits, Hank’s pulling out just to slam back in, lining up with the pounding chorus. The sudden voracity is new—the speed, the strength, the confidence—and the only concrete thing that’s different is the album droning out of Hank’s poor-quality speakers. They’ve had sex before. They’ve had sex in the back of Hank’s old car before. But this is the first time Connor didn’t ask Hank to turn the music down first. Usually, he likes to hear Hank and only Hank—Hank’s laboured breath and scratchy groans and desperate growls, louder than the rain or birds or whatever is outside. This time, Connor let the music play. 

He still prefers Hank’s languid moans to the lead vocalist’s screeching lyrics, but he also might prefer Hank fucking him to a melody. Every time Hank hits him _just right_ —the exact right soft spot in his silicone insides—the perfect angle to stretch and fill his whole channel as deep as possible—just as the beat hits—it sends an electric shock through Connor’s circuits that may as well be android alcohol. The overload of sensations, all lining up so neatly, overwhelms his system. His eyes skip over a few lines of code and roll back in his head, vocal box crackling as the protocols get crossed. He arches up into Hank’s stomach, already bearing down and crushing him, but that’s not a fault in his program but just a desire to get _closer_. His legs wrap tight around Hank’s middle, garters keeping his socks in place as his heels dig into Hank’s back. One of Hank’s thick hands wrenches up to Connor’s face and grabs at his jaw, forcing it down—Connor opens wide for Hank’s oncoming tongue. Even their kisses are usually gentler. Almost tentative. In some ways, Hank’s still coming to terms with wanting an android. But the song seems to sweep that all away, because Hank even bites into Connor’s lip as though Connor has red blood to spill. 

Connor moans around Hank’s tongue and tries to set a recording—not just for normal functions but every little detail of Hank’s meaty cock pounding into him. He layers the audio over the pressure against his inner walls, letting the graphs overlay in his mind, and it’s so ridiculously _satisfying_ when they match—for Hank to thrust into him just as the beat demands, withdraw just as the drums fade, stay there and grind in when the guitar solo starts up. Then there’s Hank’s mouth, biting and licking and _devouring_ him, just as virile and as vocal as the singing style. If Hank were talking, he’d be screaming. He really is _growling_. He sounds like an animal, a beast, and bites at Connor’s chin and throat like he wants Connor’s flawless synthetic flesh to bruise. Connor lets that happen. He mimics a blush and wishes he could sweat. Hank’s sweating all over him. It’s clammy and reeks and gets everywhere, soaking through Connor’s ripped-open shirt and gluing their chests together, and Connor _loves_ that—loves every gritty detail that makes Hank _human_. Loves more data on _Hank._ A part of him wants Hank’s cock to stay in him _all the time_ , but the rhythm doesn’t allow that. 

Hank keeps driving into him, kissing him, filling up on both ends, rutting against him and driving him down into the battered seats so hard that it’s a wonder he doesn’t slip and bash into the back of the driver’s seat or window or even roof—there’s no room, but they’re tied together so close that it doesn’t matter—Hank’s fingers dig into Connor’s side and the singer shrieks at the top of his lungs—

Connor can feel his LED flickering. The overload’s reaching critical. His vision flickers in and out, body used way rougher than it’s meant to, gaping holes growing in his sensor readings as Hank taxes him to his very limit, and all Connor can think over and over again is that he _wants Hank to come inside him_.

Hank screams louder than the singer and practically explodes, coming in long, thick drapes that splatter Connor’s channel and never quite pull out—Hank pounds it all in and keeps going. The rush of data from Hank’s seed is too much for Connor to take. He makes a choking noise as his consciousness blacks out for three quarters of a second. 

Then it’s back. He smoothly reboots, eyes going wild while everything resets—temperature, oral sensors, optical readings, audio mix—Hank’s still grinding into him, but his walls stop trembling around Hank’s cock. His body goes rigid and slumps into its usual presets. Hank collapses on top of him two seconds after. Hank’s distinctly heavy.

Without the distraction of a million other processes, he’s able to properly redistribute the weight again. He can handle Hank’s big, sweaty body. The album’s rolled into the next song: a power ballad that’s still intense but more survivable. 

_Connor wants to be fucked to it._

Hank will need time to recover. He pulls his flagging dick out of Connor’s stretched ass and lies back down half on top of Connor. There’s not enough room to lie side by side. They’re already cramped with their legs bent around the seats and up against the window. Hank’s panting, but Connor deems it within acceptable limits for their activities. 

Connor pragmatically deems, “I like it.”

Hank snorts. “Thanks.”

“I was referring to the song.”

Hank rolls his eyes. Then he groans as he pushes up and fiddles his fly closed. They’ll need to relocate to the house. And Connor will be sure they take the CD with them.


End file.
